My name is Mark Talley and I’m thirty-three years old. I’ve never been an overly religious kind of guy–never gave much thought to the concepts of good and evil. But three days ago, something happened. Something that shook me to my core. Something that convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt that the devil is real. The date was May 14, 2022, a day that will go down in history as the day the devil, disguised as a racist with hate in his heart and a semiautomatic rifle, came to the east side of Buffalo and killed ten unsuspecting Black folks at Tops Friendly Market. My sixty-two-year-old mother was one of the victims and I still can’t believe she’s gone. I still can’t believe that I’ll never hear her sweet voice again or see her smiling face.I’ve seen my mother in my dreams twice since she died on May 14. The first time I saw her, she was smiling and waving goodbye to me as she prepared to board a train. I must admit, my first thought when I saw her was, ‘Why a train? Why not a plane or an automobile?’ Then, it hit me that she was leaving. So, I ran as fast as I could to stop her from boarding. But I couldn’t get there fast enough. And when I saw a plume of steam rise from the train after she disappeared inside, I fell on my knees and cried, something I have never done in my waking life as far back as I can remember.The next time I saw her, she was standing in a lush green meadow wearing a yellow gown that shimmered like the sun against her cocoa complexion. I must have been about ten years old in my dream and remember how beautiful she looked as her microbraids and dress blew in the gentle breeze. “There’s my double scoop of dark chocolate,” she said, reaching her arms out to me and smiling. Words cannot describe the joy I felt when I saw my mother standing before me, alive and well–or the heartbreak when I awoke and realized she was still gone.I’ve spent the last few days retracing my steps on May 14th from the time I awoke to the time my mother was killed and wondering if there was something I could’ve done to change her fate. You know–maybe there was some cosmic sign I should’ve seen or some divine message I may have missed. But one thing for sure–if I had known on the morning of May 14, 2022, that by 2:28 p.m. my mother would be dead, I would’ve done so many things differently that day. I would’ve stopped by her house and told her how much I love her. I would’ve thanked her for raising me as a single parent. I would’ve hugged her tight and apologized for being such a bull-headed kid growing up. And most importantly, I would’ve slashed the tires on her car to keep her home that day or waited for her killer in the store’s parking lot and beat his face with his own rifle–disfigure him so badly he’d look like a bucket of chitlins, and no one would question the reason for a closed casket at his funeral.But I didn’t know.

5 14 : The Day the Devil Came to Buffalo PDF

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